


There is Possibly Something Amiss Here

by LoxieBoxie, TGP



Series: Happy Endings [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: A sassy cop, Baking, Endgame, F/M, Finding home, Gamzee sucks at conversating, Gen, Humans Are Weird, Moirail trouble, Murderous Thoughts, Panic Attack, Resolution of sorts, Self Papping, Unwanted Papping, memory problems, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of mind control, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoxieBoxie/pseuds/LoxieBoxie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGP/pseuds/TGP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee finds himself on Earth. It's... difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As a side note, the narrative isn't kind to Mituna. We actually like him a lot. Gamzee's just not sold on his adorable ridiculousness yet.
> 
> This should end up being about three chapters
> 
> Timeline wise, this starts as soon as the kids get back in April and ends up trailing to the end of the month before things are settled.

Gamzee wakes up and feels wet all over. The air is cool on his skin and his damp hair sticks haphazardly to his forehead and cheek. When he opens his eyes, it takes a while to focus on droplets of dew littering the grass in front of his face. He doesn’t try to move just yet, takes stock of himself instead because it doesn’t seem like he’s in danger if something didn’t come kill him while he was sleeping. And resting itself is a bit of a novelty, really, one he hasn’t really indulged in often since… Well, it’s been a while. A soft wind plays through his hair and it’s kind of soothing, like someone scratching their fingers through it. Makes a motherfucker all up and ready to just lay around for the next however long he has because he’s comfortable and there’s no battle to run to and no scheme to hatch and no overwhelming crisis of psychological health to deal with badly.

 

(He’s been running away from that one since he sobered and there’s no reason to stop now. No reason to face it and even if he did, well, what would change? Not a thing. Not one motherfucking thing.)

 

Besides, he’s sore all over. He feels like he went tumbling down a mountain, all banged up and achy, and at least laying still doesn’t make it any worse. The smell of his own blood is a pungent aroma that bothers him absently but he’s pretty sure he deserves it and that’s still not enough to rouse him. Pain never has been, either.

 

Gamzee wonders where he is but it’s an idle thing, like wondering if he’s alone (yes) or whole (no). This definitely isn’t Alternia but maybe Beforus? They might be so lucky. It’s not like any of them really worked that out before they tumbled through the get away portal. The air tastes wetter on his tongue and it’s colder than he’d imagine. Not that the cold bothers him with how high up in the spectrum he is, but it’s something to note. It’s something to idly realize. Distraction from the weird (the alien) the way the grass isn’t the right color and how he isn’t hearing the right sounds and the light is all wrong.

 

Then he realizes the blue-purple sky is getting steadily brighter. Gamzee doesn’t have much of a survival instinct but death by sun isn’t high on his list of things to ever have happen. It’s enough to get him to his feet and then he stumbles because one leg tries to go out from under him but he catches himself just barely. He gives the ripped trouser leg and bloodied limb a glance but, really, not as bad as getting shot umpteen thousand times. He’s already over it. It hurts but he soldiers along, looking for shelter. He’s not going to burn, not after surviving the game (somehow, not really by his own devices, things are a little hazy on that front; he thinks he might have sucker punched the Lord of Time to death possibly) and despite that nothing else seems to be running for cover, he finds a small, stone building to duck inside.

 

His eyes adjust quickly and he finds himself in a public toilet, stained and forgotten. The smell of waste offends him, rippling along with his unease about how secure the building is (not at all) and the one exit. He senses the vague presence of his sylladex, wonders how deadly the cargo is, and then catches sight of himself in one of the cracked mirrors. His paint is smeared unrecognizable, bits of his hair touched with white, no fixing it now, and his face...

 

Gamzee resists the urge to break the mirror and instead turns away to give a look out the bathroom door again. It’s kind of nice looking, this place he’s woken up. Green as far as he can see, a stone path winding along well manicured lawn. There’s a huge, intricate looking fountain he can barely catch sight of but mostly it’s wide open space. He almost ducks back inside to hunker down for the day when he spots a flash of bright gold from what seems to be a shadow. Gamzee knows that color. Any troll would know it.

 

He hesitates. It’s none of his business if one of two dozen other trolls gets toasted for being too stupid to take care of themselves. Remote chance it’s someone he actually cares about and besides, most of them wouldn’t want him around anyway. He’s doesn’t owe them anything-

 

Except he motherfucking does.

 

He heads out cautiously at first and then goes at a run, as well as his bum leg will allow. The sky is shot with pink and pale violet and the horizon has grown deadly red. Gamzee doesn’t even stop to look the troll in the face. He grabs handfuls of black and gold cloth and drags them onto his back. He twists and stumbles on but the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon when he gets back into the bathroom like a terrifying bomb inching ever closer. He slams the main door closed, drops his cargo against the inner corner of the last stall, and then glares the thin barrier to the outside that will do little if someone really wants to get in. Fuck if he’ll let them in. He’s pretty sure he can tear apart anything the world throws him at this point. (He’s done great so far at destroying everything he touches.) This is his hive now, temporarily at least, and he will break a motherfucker for getting all up in his motherfucking space!

 

Gamzee’s still glaring down the door like it offered some kind of offense when he hears a sleepy little mumble from the last stall. He pauses, glancing back, but he doesn’t see any movement. The other troll is crumpled in a pile of limbs on the floor and Gamzee can just barely make out a few locks of messy black hair from under the stall door. For a moment, he thinks about trussing up that body to keep the door fortified, give him a few extra seconds to ready himself for whatever might come through, but he catches himself.

 

He’s not-

 

He’s trying to be better-

 

He doesn’t care about some low blooded motherfucker (could be Sollux, the spatters of blood on the floor are the right color) and he doesn’t need anyone, especially not one of them (they don’t want him) and what was he even all up and thinking, dragging dead weight along (maybe if he could save _one_ )-

 

Gamzee glares as the troll twitches, arm flailing out from under the stall door in an uncontrolled sprawl, gloved fingers flexing at nothing. Pathetic. The troll is muttering and the voice isn’t right for Sollux, too high and the tone all wrong and Gamzee’s pretty sure he’s spitting gibberish in his sleep. Unless someone gave Sollux a lobotomy, this isn’t one of his trolls. He doesn’t have to care what happens to him.

 

He _doesn’t_ care.

 

He still ends up easing the stall door open again so he can stare at the tangled pile of troll in black and gold, covered in Sollux’s blood color. Gamzee stoops down and pokes at the twitching hand. It jerks back up, but too far, smacks right into the guy’s face and then he gives a grumpy curse that’s half mangled as he jerks onto his side. He’s got a lot of hair, a lot more than Sollux, but the teeth are right and the symbol on his chest is a dead giveaway. Beforan Captor then. Gamzee never got a chance to get to know him (for the best) but he’s heard stories (when no one knew he was there to listen.)

 

He doesn’t know what to do with him. (He barely knows what to do with himself.)

 

Captor keeps sleeping. Gamzee keeps staring. He’s going to have to make a decision on this pretty soon. On the one hand, figuring out this place is going to be hard enough without having to look after some thinksponge addled idiot. On the other, he’s not supposed to be getting his killing on so much anymore. Lord English, Caliborn, all his embodied lords and masters are dead and gone and they were the last murders Gamzee wanted to assist in. (There’s one left, one who’s still around, but he won’t let her into his pan again. He will die before he lets her in.) He’s swearing off killing, at least for now. Besides, he’s pretty sure if he leads this pitiable thing back to safety, Karkat might-

 

Gamzee feels his entire body jerk and a clicking growl starts in his throat. He doesn’t care about Karkat (he _does_ , he does so much, his little shouty palebro who was so good at keeping him steady) and he doesn’t need him (he needs him more than he ever wanted to and he wishes he’d never broken that but he doesn’t know how to fix it and now he is so _lost_ ) and he is just fine on his own. Motherfucking fine! (That’s the biggest lie of them all.)

 

Gamzee gets up and paces along the line of sinks. He's restless and hemmed in and he ends up drawing out a club so he has something in his hand. He wonders how long a day is here because it’s already been too motherfucking long and he hates that he’s trapped like a squeak beast in a motherfucking cage. At least he’s gotten used to the smell.

 

A small sliver of light peers in from the bottom edge of the door. Gamzee is careful to stay out of it but he prowls around the barest edges of it. He thinks about testing it because he’s not feeling the oppressive heat from it that he’d expect through such a thin barrier, but he doesn’t quite manage to make himself yet.

 

The troll in the stall flails violently, a fury of banging limbs and garbled cursing, and then he’s whimpering like a fool. It grates on Gamzee’s nerves. He should have left the idiot out to motherfucking burn.

 

“ _Helmet_ \- thuppothed to- _fffuck_ -“

 

Gamzee crouches near the main door. The stall walls stop about a foot off the ground and give him plenty of sight to figure out what Captor is doing. Which isn’t much. He’s sat up but he’s curled on himself with his head between his knees, hands tightly clenched in his shaggy hair. Still muttering. Gamzee’s kind of disgusted by him. It’s like someone tried to clone Sollux but only got half his genetic material and replaced the rest with a severely addled hoofbeast. It’d almost be mercy to just kill the poor bastard.

 

Captor finally gets on his hands and knees and bats the unlatched swinging door open so he can get out, but he stops there. He stares at Gamzee (at least he thinks so but that hair is so long and messy Captor might not really be seeing at all) and leans forward on his hands, like he’s trying to figure out what to do but isn’t quite all there. There’s blood running down his cheek and a patch of his hair near the front is wet and matted with it. If it weren’t for the stories, Gamzee might think the head wound had addled him.

 

“Kurloth?” Captor asks and then he rocks back a few inches like he knows it’s wrong but can’t trust himself.

 

“Wrong motherfucking Makara,” Gamzee corrects anyway and he grips the club tighter. Had his dancendent adopted this pathetic excuse for a troll as his own? Peripherally, Gamzee supposes he should keep him alive then. Not that he owes Kurloz anything because he’s a pathetic piece of shit, but somehow Gamzee doubts this idiot was in on anything. Damn is this motherfucker pitiable, but it’s dropped past diamond and gone straight culling offense. Gamzee wants to bash his pathetic skull in. But he doesn’t.

 

(He thinks about the way Caliborn looked at him when the culmination of all their efforts gave him the power he craved, the power to do anything, the power become the timely messiah that he’d already motherfucking been all along. He remembers the moment that he realized Lord English was bringing with him everything Gamzee hadn’t, actually, wanted after all, because he was the end and the beginning and the destruction of both. He remembers the stunning moment of clarity about what he had done, what he was doing, and what he’d lost in the process.)

 

Captor fidgets but it’s less bound energy and more lack of motor control. Gamzee wonders why no one else had already culled the poor bastard. After a little while, Captor grabs the side of the stall and starts pulling himself up to his feet like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. He stumbles, his fingers twitch at random, and he doesn’t seem to be aware of where his head is half the time (his horns must be as cracked as the rest of him for his sense of space to be so screwed up.)

 

“Where’th thith?” Captor manages but his voice is trembling and uneven, not scared so much as uncontrolled, just like his body. It’s a marvel of a thing. “Who’re yonnngggfffff- _fuck your mouth hole, cockthucking bithangsiwsjdgl!_ ”

 

He’s on the ground again and slams his fist against the tiles with obvious frustration that his stream of unintelligible cursing has already made clear.

 

Gamzee watches him flail. Yeah, great idea, saving the most damaged troll he’s ever met. His gaze trails to the door. It wouldn’t be that hard to get the door open and toss the meatsack outside without getting scorched.

 

“Nnngghhhfuck fuck fuck,” Captor mutters to himself as his fingers spasm, thwarting his attempts to get up again. He ends up on his back and then just gives up, laying there panting. It’s. Just. _Pathetic_.

 

And for some reason past his half hearted vow not to do it anymore, Gamzee still isn’t killing him. He’s almost curious about that, except his dancendent hadn’t killed off Captor either. He wonders if there’s something to that. Shifting off his feet, Gamzee rests his back against the wall between a sink and the door, folding his long legs under him. There’s no sense in staying on guard around this failure of life. Just a motherfucking waste of his ever loving time.

 

“Calm your tits, bro,” he mutters as Captor spits out another string of mangled curses. Gamzee sets down the club (on the side away from Captor, he’s not that stupid). “Ain’t gotta be so motherfucking excited when the sun’s all up and out.”

 

Captor mutters something, twisting his head back so he can look at Gamzee and- oh look, there’s an eye in the mess of black bangs. Gamzee can barely see it but he’s oddly comforted that the other troll has eyes, even if they’re the same weird Captor eyes as Sollux’s. After a few moments, Captor drags himself over to the line of sinks and sits up between two of them, throwing his legs out straight before him like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. He’s the most uncoordinated thing Gamzee’s ever seen.

 

“You are one useless motherfucker,” Gamzee tells him blithely.

 

“Thuck my bulge, nookthniffer,” Captor replies and then gives a cackling laugh.

 

Gamzee blinks. Hadn’t been expecting that. It makes him grin despite himself and then he’s laughing, too. It feels so motherfucking good to laugh like that, all nice and deep in his chest, completely sincere, and even if Captor’s laugh isn’t one he knows, he likes hearing them together, all wrapped up in one another like soulmates and he remembers how it used to sound when Tavbro got the wicked giggles-

 

He quiets and stares out across the bathroom. But he doesn’t want to feel bad right now. He wants to be motherfucking triumphant! He wants to laugh and he will laugh until there’s no air left in his lungs and no motherfucking thing is going to keep him from doing it either. He is above all that bullshit. He is free of it, free of everything and he laughs even though his bruised chest hurts from the effort because he doesn’t motherfucking care, he’s all up in the sweet joy of being alive-

 

_Pap._

 

Gamzee stares, dumbfounded. Captor’s on his knees in front of him, wobbly but determined, and his hand is on Gamzee’s cheek like it has any motherfucking right to be and Gamzee is going to KILL THAT STUPID MOTHERFUCKER WHAT _DARED_ LAY HANDS ON HIS SUBJUGGULATING PERSONAGE LIKE SOME WIGGLER TO BE PACIFIED, LIKE HE’S SLUTTING FOR PALE CONNECTIONS IN SOME PATHETIC ROADSIDE WHOREHIVE-

 

“Thoooth,” Captor tries but can’t quite get it right past his teeth and Gamzee hates him so much right now, he hates him because it’s not the sound he wants or needs or recognizes and Captor’s not aggressive enough with his fingers, but he’s hitting the right spots enough that Gamzee’s feeling the instinctual calm starting to come over him but he doesn’t want it, not for Captor, not here and now-

 

He swings the club without even thinking, catching the side of Captor’s head. The swing is weak and uncoordinated, but it’s enough to get Captor’s motherfucking hands off him. Then he gets his good leg between them and boots Captor across the bathroom, skittering back himself until he’s wedged into the far corner of the bathroom. Captor hits the back wall with a grunt and drops into a cursing, whining pile of misery and Gamzee swears if that motherfucker comes any closer he is going to beat his brains in and paint the whole motherfucking building with his blood. He’s got clubs in both hands and his bloodpusher beats hard and fast in his chest as his eyes go near blind with rage.

 

“Where do you all up and get off thinking you had ANY MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT TO MOTHERFUCKING SOOTHE ME?!”

 

Captor sputters out noises and obscenities as he scrambles to his feet, swinging an arm up to flip the bird as red and blue crack ineffectually around his bleeding face. “FFFUCK YOU! Cuz you’re crying like a little bitch!”

 

Gamzee bares his teeth because he is _not_ but when he touches his face for confirmation, his fingers come back wet with paint and the watery imitation of his miracle blood color and he is going to kill this motherfucker for seeing him like this, for daring to try to pap him and make it better because he’s not Gamzee’s moirail, he’s not the one Gamzee would ever want (or let) pacify him, and Gamzee hates him so motherfucking much. He is going to PAINT THE ENTIRE MOTHERFUCKING _WORLD_ IN HIS MOTHERFUCKING BLOOD-

 

He stops dead, club raised high to strike (when the fuck did he even move) and Captor’s hunched in front of him with his head down and he’s muttering out tiny, pathetic, whimpered apologies. Not even running or defending himself. Just standing there waiting like some stupid hoofbeast-

 

And Gamzee _hates_ him-

 

Pathetic excuse for a troll with his whiny voice and spasming fingers and utter defenselessness-

 

Gamzee lets his arms fall limp at his sides. He’s still angry, _so motherfucking angry_ , but the bloodlust is gone like it was never there in the first place. He growls low in his throat and Captor looks at him all unsure and it takes everything in Gamzee not to try to soothe _him_. Pitiful motherfucking thing, no wonder Kurloz never killed him (not that Kurloz is, actually, all that much like Gamzee, and the comparison grates on him even though he made it himself because Kurloz is nearly as terrible an example of troll kind as this sack of shit.) Captor’s almost as bad as Karkat, but that thought hurts so Gamzee shies from it. He glares at Captor while the guy just stands there, useless, then twists around and goes back to pacing. He’s full of nervous, angry energy and there’s nothing to destroy except sinks and toilets and he doesn’t want to end up drenched on top of miserable just because he burst a pipe.

 

Captor keeps to himself. When Gamzee finally calms down enough to even think of interacting with the guy, he finds Captor sleeping in the corner of the last stall, wedged between the toilet and the wall. It’s like something out of those pale romance movies Karkat made him watch sometimes (he never made much of a fuss, really.) He can almost see the burly palebro come around and gently carry off his tiny, sleeping snowflake to a hive they scandalously share- Gamzee shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and goes back to pacing.

 

He’s tired (so motherfucking tired) but there’s no way he’s sleeping here with a flimsy door that’s the only protection between him and the burning rays of the sun. He sits at the edge of the light coming in from the bottom of the door and stares at it. No heat, at least not enough to count. He weighs his options. Then he realizes he’s got absolutely nothing to motherfucking lose.

 

The light does absolutely nothing. Gamzee sticks his hand right in front of the open space under the door and nope, nothing, not a motherfucking difference. He’s almost disappointed. Getting back up to his feet, Gamzee gives the door a thoughtful look. If the light doesn’t burn, there’s no reason to stick around here, and he can escape Captor and the closed in feeling with one go. He doubts Captor will even notice he’s gone.

 

(He knows he’s not going to leave Captor there but he wants to pretend he will for a little while.)

 

Gamzee opens the door and because he’s not a frightened wiggler, he doesn’t bother keeping himself out of the way of light. Which turns out to be not dangerous at all. It’s warm and the air smells crisp and clean and he is not going to stay in this motherfucking bathroom any motherfucking longer. Gamzee takes a lungful of air and then goes back to grab Captor, who snarls and curses as he’s roused, and then fights tooth and nail as Gamzee drags him out the door. He screams and begs and curses Gamzee’s entire lineage until Gamzee throws him onto the grass and hisses at him to shut the fuck up already and _look_. After that, Captor’s surprisingly docile and when Gamzee decides to go, he follows. Captor stumbles every few steps, falls every few more. He’s exhausted, just like Gamzee is, but if the two of them are here then most likely others are and Gamzee means to find them. He’s going to shove Captor at them and then continue alone. He always did better alone (when he wasn’t convinced he was his own messiahs, anyway. Except no, not really then either.)

 

Captor is a chatterer. Most of what he says is mangled and worthless but Gamzee doesn’t bother trying to shut him up. At least for now. Instead, he concentrates on trying to figure out where the hell they are because his innate directional senses haven’t quite settled yet and he knows none of the landmarks. He’s got a sense for magnetic north, can figure the rest, but that’s not going to help much. It still doesn’t take long for them to find the end of the over large lawn ring, which turns out to be edged on all sides by roads, strange hives, and stranger vehicles. And there are humans everywhere: big, small, all shades of pink and yellow and brown, with any number of colors of hair on their weirdly hornless heads…

 

Gamzee isn’t like the rest of his old crew. He never really warmed up to the humans (except maybe Dave Strider and that had more to do with his burning hatred of that motherfucker, or Rose, who liked listening as long as Gamzee was willing to talk, which wasn’t often) and he certainly doesn’t want to be around them now. Disgusting bags of defenseless pink with their aggravating tendency to worthless annoyance… He likes them even less now, alone with only a damaged troll at his side in some place he guesses must be the human homeworld. Too much to hope it might have been Beforus. He’s lucky, but not _that_ lucky.

 

Captor is close enough to his back that Gamzee can feel his body heat. He growls and Captor snarls at him but he backs off a bit only to fall on his ass again. When Gamzee drags him back to his feet, Captor stays close again and this time Gamzee doesn’t bother.

 

It’s about then that a vehicle painted black and white pulls up at the edge of the road. The window rolls down and an adult human in a dark blue uniform peers out at them. Authority figure, definitely. He doesn’t need to see how a few of the surrounding humans tense up to know that; he can see it in her posture, her utter comfort in her own skin. Her eyes float over Captor and then center on Gamzee. She doesn’t seem to know quite what to make of them. (Her expression becomes blanker when looking at him, like she can see something in him that isn’t in Captor. He knows exactly what that is.)

 

“Still a couple months until Halloween, boys,” she says, lifting her brows, but she’s still looking right at Gamzee and he just... He can feel the challenge she’s calculating in her mind, the way she’s testing the waters to see what might jump out. He wants to. His muscles coil in preparation, bloodpusher quickens as adrenaline shoots through his system. Just a human but this is a human used to combat, or at least ready for the threat of it. He almost draws a club because he wants to know what color her blood is because she’s so different looking than the humans he knows-

 

Captor makes a noise filled with confusion and as incomprehensible as ever. The red developing at the edges of Gamzee’s vision recedes. If he attacked this human, the others might gang up. Humans were a lot more pack oriented than trolls. He needed to duck out of this one’s attention, find somewhere for him and Captor to hide away until he figured out what to do.

 

“Ain’t no need to be bothered,” he grits out.

 

“Uh-huh.” She looks very much disbelieving, her eyes narrowed and watchful. “Well, maybe you want to be getting on home now to clean that stuff off. There’re kids in this neighborhood. No need to expose them to anything weird just ‘cause your parents don’t reign you in. You should know better at your age.”

 

He has no idea what she’s talking about and for a moment, he’s almost offended that it’s so obvious someone should be reigning him in, pacifying his actions, keeping him from going crazy. He knows they should. That doesn’t mean he likes being reminded that no one is. Gamzee stares at her as his hands fists and he thinks about the clubs in his sylladex.

 

She squints at them a bit, giving Captor a closer look and lingering on their horns. She seems to be figuring out if they’re worth the trouble. Gamzee’s hackles rise in anticipation. If she attacks them first…

 

“Well. Get on, then,” she says finally, settling back in her vehicle. “Don’t you let me catch you acting a fool around here. I live in this neighborhood. I’ll know. And clean that paint off your clothes; you look stupid. If you’re going to be paintballing, show yourselves a little respect and bring a change of clothes. Now get home before I change my mind about letting you off the hook.”

 

Then she rolls up the window and goes on with what seems to be a routine patrol. Gamzee glares after her even as he feels some of the tension in him fading. He still wants to get the fuck out of here, go home, get to something normal and familiar… Not that he thinks anything will be familiar again. _Fuck_.

 

Gamzee chooses a direction and Captor follows, just as he figured he would. Captor’s got all the sense of a smashed grub which suits Gamzee just fine because if that motherfucker starts a fight with him, he with all up and _end him_ , and he doesn’t feel like getting any more covered in blood. His nerves are shot. He’s exhausted. He’s hurt. He’s surrounded by wide eyed humans and a bright sun and everything stinks unfamiliarly. He doesn’t even have the option to get high and level off a little. Gamzee is ripe and ready to kill a bitch (he wonders if Captor would try to pacify him again if he did and the thought makes him shudder with unease.) He concentrates on where the fuck they’re going.

 

Even if he doesn’t find familiar faces before they find him, Gamzee’s fine with it. He figures the humans will gossip enough to spread word. There have to be other trolls around here. He and Captor can’t be the only ones. He doesn’t care who it might be because any of those motherfuckers would pity Captor enough to look after him (he has a habit of surrounding himself with people like that (barring Vriska, maybe) when he isn’t off being stupid) and maybe he can have a place to hole up for a few hours of sleep before he sneaks off because unless he finds Kanaya, the ones he knows won’t kill him in his sleep.

 

He’s about ready to just find a tree to curl up in when he notices two odd hives that look the same right next to each other, rather than the pattern of designs he’s seen in the rest of the area. In front of one of them is an adult human in a wide brimmed hat embracing a juvenile that’s familiar- Yes. He knows that one. It’s another one of the first human group, the dark haired male. Jawm, something weird like that. Gamzee doesn’t care enough to work on remembering and the holes in his mind are difficult to manage even when he’s trying.

 

The adult human notices them before the Heir of Breath and waves his hand at them. It takes Gamzee a moment to realize they’re being beckoned. He hesitates but then starts towards the human only to feel a tug at his shirt. He looks back. Captor’s stopped grinning. He looks apprehensive under his messy head fluff and his hand is tightly clenched on the edge of Gamzee’s shirt. Gamzee says nothing because what the motherfuck is he supposed to say to get this jangle of troll moving. After a second or two, Captor takes a hesitant step and the two of them go to meet up with Jawm and the other human.

 

“You guys got here too?” Jawm says, lifting an inch or two off the ground with excitement. The older human sets a calming hand on his shoulder to bring him back down to the ground.

 

“We should get you boys inside and cleaned up,” he murmurs, already steering Jawm to the hive. Gamzee follows but he’s smelling the familiar twang of troll, hints of presence. He’s not sure how many, but someone else is here and he feels something inside both relax and clench with unease. Captor stumbles behind him, knocks into Gamzee’s shoulder, but when he turns to glare at the addled troll, Captor’s face is so pale and drawn and Gamzee finds himself biting back on what he’d meant to say.

 

“Careful, bro,” he says instead and lets Captor keep tugging his shirt to keep along.

  
“Lick my taint,” Captor replies quietly but he doesn’t let go and Gamzee finds himself snorting and cracking a tired grin.


	2. Chapter 2

Gamzee’s grin drops when he gets inside. There are two other trolls there. One of them is a teal with a wide grin that has Captor going motherfucking nuts beside him and then Captor’s falling all over himself to get to her. She meets him half way and wraps him in her arms all indecently pale and open, pressing kisses over his face and- Well. Not so pale then. Gamzee blinks a little and then lets his gaze slide right off because he really has no interest in seeing what the tealblood can do with her tongue, much less how much Captor enjoys it. Besides, looking at her too long reminds him of Terezi and… Not right now. He isn’t that much of a motherfucking masochist.

 

The other troll is Karkat. Gamzee stares at him numbly but Karkat isn’t looking at him. He’s sitting nice and still while a duplicate of the adult with Jawm cleans out and bandages his arm. Soothes him with quiet little words that Karkat sneers at but accepts. Trusting him not to hurt him further. Gamzee’s chest goes tight with affront and his fingers clench into tight fists, claws digging into his palms, because that’s not how it’s supposed to motherfucking go, that’s not who should be there- _that’s his-_

 

“Come along, my boy,” Jawm’s adult says at Gamzee’s side. There’s a vague sternness that catches Gamzee’s attention and it rankles him deep inside because who the fuck does this motherfucker think he is-

 

His thoughts stall as the human sets a hand against his back, covering nearly the whole of his shoulder blade in warmth that burns as hot as Karkat, and starts propelling him forward. Gamzee’s so surprised at the gall that he just goes along with it and soon finds himself sitting in a chair with the adult kneeling before him, propping Gamzee’s foot on his knee so he can get at the slashes along his leg. It’s… motherfucking disconcerting. He sits there, poleaxed, and glances towards the other trolls, but Karkat is ignoring him and Captor is too busy getting tended to by his weirdly pale flushmate (but with as fucked in the head as Captor is, he can see why it’s necessary.)

 

“You kids certainly went through the ringer,” the adult comments brightly as he surveys Gamzee’s leg (and Gamzee tries to ignore the way his skin is crawling with how close he is when Gamzee’s vulnerable.) Now that a lot of the blood has been wiped away, it does look pretty terrible. All bruised and cut up and paler gray. Gamzee’s almost surprised it hasn’t just broken off, but he’d been ignoring how much it hurt to walk because it wasn’t a thing to keep in mind.

 

Jawm’s got a damp cloth in hand that he hands over to the tealblood (it’s easier to think of her like that than Pyrope) so she can clean up Captor’s face. Jawm babbles like an idiot and Captor curses and sputters back at him (and the tealblood is just too damned amused by the whole thing, she really is. Her wide smile grates on Gamzee’s nerves in all the right ways.)

 

“All right there, lad?” the adult asks and Gamzee jerks his head around to regard him.

 

“Ain’t no motherfucking thing,” he replies and the adult’s mouth twitches a little at one side, pinching like he’s holding back a grimace. Gamzee thinks it might be best to try and chill out a little, maybe throw out some kind of reassurance, if only to secure some safe place to sleep. Keep the adult happy for now. “I haven’t got my botherment on in any motherfucking way but its awful nice of you to be all concerned like.”

 

“Ah… well. You’re welcome, then.”

 

He doesn’t seem to know what to think of Gamzee so he just continues wrapping up his leg in clean white bandages and chewing at the pipe between his teeth. Gamzee’s about as lost on him. Adults were always so very far away concepts and terrifying prospects. Who knows how different human adults could be, what it might take to send this one into a murderous rage. Not that Gamzee is afraid of some soft pink human, weak as a wiggler, but if the adult gets his murder on, well, then he will too and he’s decided not to. He has to remember that.

 

Gamzee’s eyes flicker to Karkat but Karkat still won’t acknowledge him at all. He’s too busy letting the other adult get hands near his face and even from here, Gamzee can see the way Karkat’s muscles are tight as a vice with the same unease Gamzee’s feeling. That’s an odd comfort, but it also makes him want to rush over and shove the human away but no. He…

 

If Karkat doesn’t accept it, Gamzee’s not sure how he’ll react. Better to wait, to see what happens, what he’s welcome to do (if he’s welcome at all. If he hasn’t ruined everything for good. He knows he probably has because that’s what he does best, whether or not he’s back to thinking again.)

 

“Any word about Jane?” the adult with Karkat asks, throwing a look towards Jawm.

 

(Gamzee remembers that name, of course, because Jane is the one who channeled the Condesce’s power, the one who Lord English was so vested in keeping out of the way, and Gamzee had almost done her in. He’d almost clubbed her to death before deciding he didn’t want that. He has seen Jane in a way that none of the other motherfuckers can attest to, inside and out, at her very worst. He remembers the way the red in her eyes reminded him of Karkat and how he almost grieved when it bled away to blue. He remembers her vividly because she is like him, even if she didn’t ask for it.)

 

“Nothing yet,” Jawm says and the human’s shoulders sag just a little. The one at Gamzee’s feet secures the bandages and gets up. He steps over to the other, grips his shoulder, and offers a gentle look Gamzee can’t quite read. The two of them stare at each other a moment or two, one gentle and the other trying to hide obvious worry with a small little smile, and then it’s over and Gamzee wonders, distantly, if the two are pale, or at least the human equivalent of it with the bizarre nature of their relationships.

 

The two adults finish tending to all of them and then shove food in their hands that Gamzee barely tastes as he gobbles down. He hadn’t realized he was starving until it was offered and he eats his fill quickly. Then they’re led upstairs to a smaller respite block and Jawm (no, it’s John, he heard the adults calling him John and that sounds more right anyway) collapses on a pile of soft fluff and pillows and is out in seconds. Karkat chooses smaller cot set up next to John and Captor’s curled up along the other wall in his tealblood’s arms as she sings softly to him and pets through his hair. Gamzee remains at the door. He doesn’t know how the rest of them can relax so near to one another. Just the thought of sleeping here, exposed around other living creatures, sets Gamzee’s jaw tight. He can’t even look at the empty cot next to Karkat because he is not invading that space even though it’s all he wants and he is irrationally angry that he can’t just do it.

 

Gamzee ducks out as the others get settled. He doubts they’ll really care. Captor forgot he was there as soon as he had his tealblood and he’s pretty sure Karkat will only be relieved to see him go, if he bothers to notice at all. Gamzee’s not going to think about that. He needs to keep his chill and he is just too motherfucking tired for this shit.

 

The two adults are in the main block. They both look up when Gamzee starts down the stairs. He doesn’t know what he’s seeing on their faces (they’re weirdly blanked most of the time, a calm sort of thing that puts Gamzee on edge because he’s much more used to how open everyone else is) but after a few still seconds, one of them waves for him to join them. Gamzee isn’t sure what might happen if he refuses but without the others around, without John, who at least has some kind of weird alien mammalian connection to them, Gamzee can’t tell himself he’d be all right. He’s pretty sure he could kill them if he needed to but…

 

He’s not doing that anymore. He’s _not_. (He wants to. It’s so much simpler to kill than try navigating his unease and Gamzee is used to taking the easy way out, but he doesn’t know how much of that is him and how much is left from Lord English.)

 

Gamzee doesn’t take the offered chair. He stays on his feet even though he’s so tired he can barely see straight. The only thing keeping him up is adrenaline. Still, the two adults don’t seem too bothered by it.

 

“Did you need something, son?” one of them asks around his pipe. Both of them have blue eyes but one is lighter than the other. It’s the only thing Gamzee can see that makes them different from one another.

 

“Ain’t needing a motherfucking thing,” he says because even if he did (and he does, if he’s honest with himself,) he wouldn’t ask for it. He’s not giving them a damn thing to hold over his head.

 

The two adults glance at one another. Then one of them holds out his hand. “I don’t think we properly introduced ourselves. My name is Jeff Egbert and this is my… brother, Jedd Crocker.”

 

_Brothers and sisters, gather and rejoice for the coming of the Dark Carnival-_ Gamzee blinks the words away. Now is not the time to reflect on the sermons sunk into his sopor riddled thinkpan, even though they’re the only things he remembers clearly from his wigglerhood other than how achingly lonely he’d been before meeting his friends (the ones that didn’t want him anymore- no, _not now_. Maybe not _ever_.)

 

“Gamzee,” he says finally as he eyes that extended hand. “Gamzee Makara.”

 

They don’t make the connection with his sign name. Gamzee isn’t sure why he thought they might. Both of them give him warm looks, modest little smiles he thinks are supposed to be welcoming, and he tries to return it with his own but he can see the way they get uncertain, the way their eyes linger on his teeth. He stops showing them and Egbert drops his hand.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Gamzee,” Crocker says, all calm and welcome and for some reason, Gamzee wants to rip off his face and see if his skull is smooth underneath. He blinks, clicks his claws together, then shrugs.

 

“Best motherfucking tidings,” he returns and they both twitch, like before, and Gamzee’s lost on why. He’s being motherfucking polite, not clubbing their motherfucking faces in-

 

He’s tired. He’s so tired.

 

“Can’t sleep? What about trying some warm milk and a cookie?” Egbert offers but Gamzee politely refuses and then absconds through the closest door to him. He finds himself in the nutrition preparation block. The only other way out leads out of the hive completely and he’s not quite ready to give up his relative safety here. He paces along the space, eyeing familiar looking appliances with human symbols scrawled all over them. It’s a safe enough spot. He can maybe rest here.

 

Gamzee spends far too long trying to decide where he can curl up. He can barely keep his eyes open, much less actually think much. So long, he’s just been reacting and trying to curb reaction and he just wants to sleep. Eventually, he climbs up to the cabinets and onto the human’s thermal hull. There’s just enough space on top for him if he drags his knees in close, toes just barely hanging off the edge on one side. His shoulder brushes the ceiling. He doesn’t really care. He’s high enough that it’ll be difficult for anyone to drag him down.

 

He’s out before he thinks about it further.

 

\-----------

 

Gamzee wakes up to a sudden yell. He’s so drowsy that it takes him a while to realize its a voice he doesn’t quite recognize, deep timbered and smoke roughened and weird accent with no sharp teeth to mangle it familiarly. He opens his eyes and gives a bleary look at one of the adults (lighter blue- Crocker) and realizes belatedly that he’s already got a club in his hand.

 

“What on Earth are you doing up there, my boy?” Crocker has a hand on his chest, crinkling the smooth white cloth of his shirt, and there is an odd pallor to his face. Gamzee’s not really sure how to answer. He doesn’t want to climb down even though he’s sore as fuck from sleeping all curled up tight. It’s nice being higher up than the adult, getting to look down at him. Like he’s big and tall and motherfucking mighty.

 

“...Seemed like the motherfucking sensible thing to do at the time?” he tries but Crocker stares at him like he’s crazy (He’s not crazy. He’s just… not always motherfucking there.) He tucks the club away again.

 

“...I… Well, if it makes you happy,” Crocker murmurs after a moment like he’s given up (like Gamzee’s won a point). “I’m sorry I woke you. Gave me a shock!”

 

Gamzee stares at him. Well. This isn’t so bad, he guesses, as interactions go. The adult has been pretty motherfucking nice, actually. Not that he’s about to let his guard down of course, now that he’s awake. He smiles. “All sorts of motherfucking apologies your way. I didn’t mean to be getting my motherfucking sneak on behind your back.”

 

“Oh, it’s alright.” Crocker’s quick to wave a dismissive hand to the whole business. Nice, that. “Are you hungry?”

 

He is, but he’s also leery of asking more than he’s already gotten. He’s still planning to leave. Ain’t no motherfucking reason to stay (Karkat doesn’t want him here. Doesn’t want him anywhere. Not a motherfucking bit.) Gamzee weighs the options. He can always slip away after the meal. Wait until both adults are distracted by the others, are distracting the others, and just disappear. He’s good on his motherfucking own.

 

Crocker doesn’t offer help when Gamzee climbs down, which Gamzee’s grateful for because he doesn’t want to sour this interaction by refusing it. Instead, he gives the space above the thermal hull an appraising look.

 

“...What were you offering?” Gamzee asks cautiously, straightening as Crocker's attention slides back to him.

 

“Well, you can never go wrong with pancakes and bacon, in my book,” the man says and Gamzee has no idea what those things are but cakes are awesome, so he supposes those might be a good enough thing. The word bacon mystifies him. Crocker smiles, nice and weirdly soft. “Would you like to help?”

 

Work for his food? He could do that. That made the tension inside unwind just a bit. He's not getting freebees, not getting debts, if he works for it. He'll be leaving free and clear. Crocker gathers up the supplies and guides Gamzee through mixing up the batter. It's simple enough and the smell of the bacon frying up is enough to get his belly rumbling. Crocker chuckles at the sound.

 

“Eager, aren't you?” he muses cheerfully. “My daughter's the same way. When she was little, sometimes she slept hard enough that the only way to get her out of bed was to fry up some bacon.”

 

Gamzee glances of his face, trying to read the strange flow of feelings through it. Human ancestor-lusii are such a weird idea. He doesn't know how that even works, how humans have survived living with adults of their species through the inevitable culling. He's not sure why, suddenly, he really wishes his lusus was still around.

 

“Did you know Jane? I know you kids were up to so much in the game,” Crocker continues as he turns the meat strips.

 

“I knew her.” Gamzee goes back to mixing the batter again. “Great motherfucking adversary. Her head woulda been a mighty fine trophy all up on my master’s wall if he’d been all into that.”

 

The spatula makes a dull sound as it hits the counter. Gamzee stills, then slowly lifts his gaze back to Crocker's pale face. Motherfucker looks like he just got shot.

 

“...I didn't kill her,” Gamzee finds himself saying. It doesn't seem to help and its not like even if he had it would have been completely his fault. “That motherfucker was all kinds of lethal. Had the motherfucking Condescension behind her, but she didn't need it. Jane got closer to culling my subjuggulating ass than any of those other motherfuckers.”

 

Except Karkat. After that debacle with Terezi and his own unstable rage- The spoon in his hand creaks and Gamzee realizes how tight he’s holding it. He forces himself to loosen his grip.

 

“Oh.” Crocker sounds kind of faint. He looks back to the bacon, absently flips it, and blinks a little.

 

Gamzee sets down the batter bowl as a bewildering guilt fills him with dread. “...Sorry? I ain't meaning to get your bother on.”

 

“No, no, you're fine, son.” Crocker draws in a slow breath that straightens out his back on the way in, but he sags again on the way out. “The game asked a lot from you kids. I don't have the right to judge. I just... The others didn't know... Gamzee, do you know if she survived it?”

 

“Ain't motherfucking sure,” Gamzee admits and watches Crocker sag a little more. “I saw her at the end, but it was all up in the motherfucking confusion. Ain't sure how all that went down. Last I saw, she was playing court with barksis and the fishsisters.”

 

Crocker nods, mostly to himself. “I see... Thank you, Gamzee, for your candor.”

 

“Don't you worry,” Gamzee says as he turns back to the batter again. “That sister ain't the kind to get her dying on for long.”

 

The smile Crocker manages is oddly strained, but it's enough. He finishes the bacon and starts making miracles out of the batter. The smells make Gamzee's belly rumble louder and Crocker sneaks him a piece of bacon that disappears in seconds. The taste is fattier than he's used to but sweet and salty and it makes his insides quiver with delight. If nothing else, at least humans are worth their bacon.

 

Egbert joins them to start pouring out drinks and has Gamzee set the table with utensils for several places. He finds himself chuckling over the similarities but when Crocker asks what's so funny, Gamzee keeps mum. He likes these two adults, against all odds, but he doesn't really want to be conversing with them his innermost thoughts. He knows he's a little weird (but he's still not crazy.)

 

It’s the meal that really drives it home how much he just does not belong. Gamzee watches the sleepy, grumpy kids get rounded up from John’s respite block and corralled to the breakfast table. Both Jeff and Jedd seem to be confident wiggler wranglers. The various teens settle into their places as Gamzee helps the adults dish out food before he joins them. Captor and the tealblood sleepily joke over their plates, John inhales anything that gets near him… Karkat picks at his food and is still, still not giving Gamzee even a glance.

 

The pit of his stomach churns. He waits until no one is looking and slips away from the table. Disappearing is one of his specialties, after all. Gamzee spends the rest of the day ghosting around the house and just watching. It’s easy find hidey holes. The hive seems build for lurking and their ventilation ducts are plenty wide enough for his thin frame.

 

Karkat sticks around John, who spends his time trying to cheer him up while his ancestor lusus bustles around everyone. It’s… hard to watch. Gamzee’s perceptive enough to realise John treats everyone like a palebro and Karkat doesn’t really seem to looking for a new one, but at the same time-

 

Gamzee can’t watch this. He’s not attached to Captor or the tealblood or the adults or John, and he can’t watch Karkat anymore, not like this. Maybe he just needs to let go because there’s no way to fix this, no way to repair the damage he’s done. At least he’s good at walking away.

 

But not _that_ good at it. He only makes it as far as Crocker’s hive next door. Crocker spends most of his time with Egbert and the hoard so Gamzee has hours by himself. He explores the hive, identical in every way to Egbert’s except for one. Where John’s bedroom should be is one belonging to a different child. There is a lot of red and a lot of white and pictures of adult human males with hair above their lips. Gamzee doesn’t understand that part but he supposes different motherfuckers have different ideas on what’s good to surround themselves with.

 

It feels like he’s trespassing but it’s the only place in the hive that seems at all normal. Except for the lack of horns in any pictures, one of his chums could have lived here. in the evening, when he hears Crocker return, Gamzee slots himself into the closet but doesn’t hear the adult enter this block. He still stays until Crocker has gone to his own block and the hive is silent.

 

Gamzee sneaks into Egbert’s hive and watches the others sleep for a while. At some point during the day, Vriska must had wandered to the house and now she sleeps curled up in a corner with a blanket wrapped around her and a pillow propped against the wall. She looks as worn as the rest of them and Gamzee spends a while tracing her features and matching them to her scratch version and desperately finding the differences. He does and then his heart settles down and he can leave her there hoping that John and his lusus will keep her under control. (He’s leery about letting her know he’s around but he’s sure the others have already told her. The very idea of her getting into his thinkpan… He’ll kill her first. He’ll kill himself first.)

 

It’s comforting to see the way their chests rise and fall with every breath, the way Captor mumbles and John drools in his pillow. The simple security that they’re still alive… But he keeps finding his eyes drawn to Karkat, to the way he’s curled tight, protecting his innards with his useless horns out in threat. No palebro to watch his back and let him sleep comfortably, not like the tealblood and Captor, who take turns dropping in and out of deeper sleep to lighter napping in shifts. The humans are different and Gamzee almost envies them. Except that ew, humans. Weak little pink wiggler things.

 

It’s near dawn when he feels something strange. Gamzee quickly scuttles out of the vents and follows his intuition. It’s not like it’s ever lead him wrong (it always does.) Something outside is different, strange, but it takes him a while to realize what that is. Then he’s on the ground and crouched over the still form of a human with short black hair that he knows, without even looking at her face, because this is one of the few humans he will always know on sight.

 

Jane Crocker doesn’t wake as Gamzee turns her onto her back in the cool, wet grass. She’s paler and her energy, the sense of her, is exhausted of substance. For a moment, he almost thinks she’s dead. Gamzee bends low and put his face close enough to her mouth. Breath hits his skin and he feels unfairly relieved. With as kind as Crocker’s been, Gamzee’d hate to give any bad news. For now, he scoops Jane up over his shoulder and skulks back into Crocker’s hive. Jane stays quiet and still, even when he deposits her on the couch of the living room.

 

He’s… pretty lost on what to do now. Gamzee thinks about waking up Crocker but, well, he’s not exactly made himself known to being up and around the hive and Crocker might not take kindly to that. Even if Gamzee knows he could beat the man to a stain, he doesn’t really feel the need to. Not right this moment. So, Gamzee leaves Jane on the couch and finds a high up hidey hole where he can keep an eye on Jane. Maybe they never really _bonded_ or anything but… well. There are things Gamzee feels responsible for.

 

(There are things he doesn’t even know why he did. He knows sometimes there was another motherfucker that was in his thinkpan, guiding his thoughts. Makes a motherfucker a little leery to trust his self. Who knows when they might show up again and maybe he won’t even know it.)

 

Faint muffled noise from a closed respite block signal Crocker’s waking. Gamzee huddles farther into his place in the ducts and waits, wondering what he might see.  Minutes drag on as Crocker goes through whatever morning ablutions he has before he finally emerges clean, shaven (facial hair, Gamzee doesn’t get humans at all,) and ready for the day. He goes along into the nutrient preparation block without noticing anything and Gamzee waits, switching his gaze between the doorway and the couch while feeling oddly let down.

 

It’s nearly ten seconds before Crocker jerks back through the doorway, eyes wide and hat ascue. He looks… Gamzee’s not sure how to describe it, but he looks like it felt when he saw Karkat, alive and well. For a long minute or two, Crocker is stock still as he stares at Jane, then manages to free himself from the stupor to get to her side. He touches her face, brushes his knuckles along her cheek, and lets out a quiet sound that is something between a laugh and a sob. It’s surreal to watch, especially as Crocker drags Jane into his arms and hugs her tight to him. She mumbles, eyes fluttering open slowly with sleepy confusion. Gamzee sees the moment she realizes where she is and who is holding her. He watches her eyes fill with tears before she clasps onto him just as tight.

 

It feels like intruding. Gamzee watches anyway. (He thinks maybe Seagoatdad might have held him that tight if he survived, but Gamzee knows he’ll never get that miracle.) The two of them laugh and cry and hug each other for a long time, babbling nonsense that just gets them laughing or crying again. The affection between them is… He would call it excessive except that humans are weird like that and it’s not like he hasn’t been the same with his palebro - that’s what palebros are _for_ \- but this is lusus to kid and humans are so completely (gloriously) weird. It’s strangely comforting that these adults are just as much pale sluts as the humans in the game.

 

Later on, when the Crockers join the other household for the day to celebrate Jane’s return (and, it sounds like, the rest of their missing crew in other parts of the world) Gamzee keeps himself up and out and only a pair of eyes in the vents.

 

He should leave. He stares at them, watching the laughter, smiles, the way that John and Jane keep working off each other’s words, Egbert and Crocker’s knowing glances, the way the humans and trolls are integrating their groups as if species were not even a thing…

 

He should leave. He’s done here. He got Captor to safety. Karkat will be safe with these humans. It’s… Gamzee has the opportunity now. He can just disappear somewhere. Walk away. (He hates thinking he’s lonely. He’s not. He’s fine, fine, motherfucking fine.)

 

And then sometimes Karkat pauses and sweeps the blocks with his eyes, searching. Doesn’t find anything and looks, just a little, like he wishes he had.

 

Gamzee sleeps in Jane’s closet another night. She finds him in the morning and screams and he screams and then Crocker’s there with a broom in his hands like a weapon. By the time the screaming is over, Gamzee’s scrambled back into the vents.

 

“What- what- what-” Jane looks a little ill when Gamzee peeks out (far enough in that they can’t see him in the dark while he watches). “That guy- For Heaven's sake, you’re kidding me.”

 

“We were wondering just where he got to,” Crocker muses as he gives the other vent a thoughtful look. “Gamzee, son, it’s all right. You can come out now.”

 

He doesn’t. He’s nice and cozy right where he is.

 

Jane drags her hand down her face with a sigh. “He’s probably long gone. All he did during the game was pop up out of no where to cause a heap of trouble.”

 

Crocker hums, then shrugs a little. “Well, he’ll come out eventually. Good morning, Jane.”

 

“Good morning, Dad.”

 

And there, at the corner of Jane’s mouth, Gamzee sees the beginnings of a relieved smile. He watches them through the morning rituals and then after they’ve eaten, Crocker hefts a thin cushion up onto the top of the thermal hull.

 

“What’s that for?” Jane asks as she gives the cushion a curious glance.

 

“Well, I thought this might be a bit more comfortable than your closet.”

 

“...A cushion. On top of the fridge.”

 

“There’s precedent.”

 

Jane’s brows bunch up as she folds her arms across her chest, lips pursed. But after a few moments of Crocker futzing with the arrangement, she finally just shrugs and goes on to join the Egberts and trolls. Crocker trails after her soon enough but Gamzee remains. He slips into the open, padding noiselessly along the tile floor of the preparation block to the thermal hull.

 

Crocker made a place for him. That…

 

Gamzee’s blood pusher seizes a little. Carefully, he climbs up and into the space between the ceiling and the hull. The cushion makes it a tighter squeeze but when he’s there, all his limbs nice and secure against him, he doesn’t care. He feels, for the first time in a very long time, _safe_.

 

\-------

 

When he isn’t hiding away from the world to watch it, Gamzee spends a lot of time curled up on the thermal hull. Crocker seems happy enough to let him and Jane’s only comment is that at least she won’t find him in her closet. (He considers the closet as a backup plan anyway. About the only way he knows how to connect with Jane is by surprising her, but she doesn’t seem to have as much fun with that as he does.)

 

The Crockers do always assure him that he is welcome at the table but Gamzee finds himself a little leery to give up his spot when they’re around. It’s the only thing that’s his right now, other than the clothes on his back, which has had replacements offered to as well but Gamzee’s turned them down. They stop asking if he wants to join them at the Egbert’s because he never says he will, but he tends to watch them anyway.

 

He still isn’t sure he wants to actually stay there, but he hasn’t got anywhere else to go, now that he’s thinking clearly. He doesn’t have any idea where any of the others are, or even if he would prefer them to what he’s got. Here at least he can sleep in safety, get fed, and has more than a few eyes on look out. But…

 

(But he misses talking to people. At least before, there were always commands in the back of his mind directing him forward, giving him direction. At the same time, the memory is terrifying and he shies from it, but the only thing behind is thinking about how things were back home, before he met Karkat and Tavbro and the way the highblood forums always made him feel laking.)

 

One afternoon, Jane comes back to the Crocker house by herself. Gamzee is curious enough to follow her and watches as she starts gathering things up in the nutrient preparation block. It takes him a little while to realize that she means to cook something. Gamzee might not recognize the names of the things she’s getting together, but he’s getting a vague understanding of what each is. Or at least their purpose.

 

He’s escaped the ducts and scrambled to the block door to watch before he realizes he’s moved. Jane doesn’t notice (or she’s actively ignoring him, he’s not sure about her.) She carefully measures out various things and starts mixing them as she hums quietly to herself. Already, a sweet, heady scent is filling the block that makes Gamzee warm inside. He creeps closer to get a better look, one silent step at a time-

 

“You’ll want to get an apron,” Jane says without turning around and Gamzee freezes. After a moment, Jane glances over her shoulder at him and lifted a brow. “To keep your clothes from getting dirty- Well. Dirtier.”

 

It takes Gamzee a moment to realize she’s inviting him to help. And then he just gets the apron as she told him, washing his hands thoroughly after. He follows her instructions, figuring out the equivalent measurement through trial and error, and it turns out he’s been putting together a pie crust. He can tell by the texture, one he knows well. As he presses the crust into the pie tin, Gamzee watches Jane from the corner of his ganderbulbs while she mixes the filling. It smells of citrus and sweetness with a sour undertone, nothing at all like sopor. He’s not sure why he was expecting it. Sopor doesn’t seem to exist here.

 

They bake the crust for a while before adding the filling  and back in it goes. Then Jane walks Gamzee through doing a garnish cream that comes together quickly. They tuck it into the thermal hull to chill while the pie bakes.

 

With nothing to do with his hands, Gamzee feels the awkwardness creeping back into his bones. He glances at Jane, who gives him a weighing look in return. Her brows lift over unimpressed eyes before turning back to her supplies.

 

“Cookies next, I think.” Gamzee hesitates, wondering if he’s welcome to continue helping, but then Jane rolls her eyes with a sigh. “Come on, already. I don’t have all day to wait on you, creepy clown.”

 

He’s back at his station in a second and takes the bowl she shoves in his hands. She sets down a book, flipped to a specific page and points to a recipe.

 

“Can you read that?”

 

Gamzee peers at it. Trollian tended to translate for him but he’s picked up most of the human alphabet on his own, like the others have. He shrugs a shoulder and checks the words in the book against the carefully labeled jars. He can figure it out. The measurements are easy enough to figure. He shrugs. “Ain’t no motherfucking thing.”

 

“Good because I’ve got tarts to manage and I don’t need to be looking over your work, too.”

 

It sparks a bit of irritation that burns good and true and makes Gamzee’s lips quirk into the smile that hasn’t been familiar lately. After that, he cautiously pokes fun at her and she comes right back as if they’d been teasing for their entire lives. Jane’s surprisingly good at picking on his shortcomings, just enough, but not too far. It gets his spirits blazing and he feels alive and normal again, like he’s back home and sniping at someone over the internet. It feels good. And a glance to Jane’s face convinces him that she’s having fun too, which is just the best. He hadn’t realized how much he missed a connection of any kind.

 

He thinks given time, he could even wax a little black for her. But that’s getting ahead of himself. Besides, humans don’t seem to really get it, in his experience. It’s still fun to pick at her and she gets right back without digging too deep. He likes the way she smiles.

 

It’s nice. He’s disappointed when they finish up everything because then the camaraderie falls apart. Jane goes off to call a friend and Gamzee fades back to his hiding place.

 

The next day, Gamzee doesn’t bother going to the Egbert house. He stays on his cushion in the kitchen, not sleeping but not really feeling like moving either. It’s not the kind of low he’d get to every few months when he was younger in his hive, but it’s still sapping away his energy and his appetite and he really, really just wishes he could go back to that. Back to spending his days in his hive by the sea, baking pies and rapping with Tavbro and waiting for his lusus to come by and check on him. Back to when-

 

The front door opens but the steps aren’t Crocker’s or Jane’s. Not heavy enough for the first, too slow for the second. Gamzee slips off the thermal hull and ghosts to the doorway, keeping himself out of sight as he peers around the frame. And it’s…

  
Karkat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird trying to juggle original Gamzee and the lingering effects of sober/mind controlled Gamzee but I'm trying!!


	3. Chapter 3

Karkat.

 

Karkat glancing around the weirdly identical hive, the tiny bits here and there of change in the decoration. Karkat standing in the center of the main living area looking like he’s gathering his strength, like he’s about to do something unpleasant or dangerous. Karkat setting his jaw in that stubborn way he always does and... just…

 

Just Karkat. What is he even doing here? Gamzee glances towards one of the vent covers in the living area and thinks about going up to get a better look from up top, but somehow he’s stuck where he is. Waiting. Wondering. Because there’s got to be some reason Karkat’s here, in Crocker’s hive, when the Crockers aren’t around. He wonders if Crocker told the others he’d been hanging around. Something tightens in his gut. Is Karkat going to run him off…? He’s got good reason to, but…

 

Gamzee hopes not but he’s gotten used to not getting his way. And it’s probably better he doesn’t because he’s fickle enough that by the time he got what he wanted, he wouldn’t even want it anymore. At least, he thinks he might be. He’s not sure of a lot about himself anymore. (He’s not sure if that’s him or someone else because everything bleeds together into a mess.)

 

“Gamzee?” Karkat’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and back to the present. Gamzee watches Karkat’s eyes flicker along the vents, waiting for a response. Sees his lip curl back a bit in an annoyed snarl. “I know you’re there, shitstain. No fucking point in hiding out from me. We need to talk.”

 

He needs to leave. Now. Before he hears Karkat tell him to. It’s one thing to know he’s not wanted; it’s another to actually hear it. He’s terrified he’ll hear it.

 

But he doesn’t run this time. Instead, Gamzee steps into the doorway and waits until Karkat spots him. He doesn’t shy away even though he wants to. He knew this was coming. And he might as well give his old palebro the respect of hearing it. Abruptly, he also wishes a little that he’d taken up Crocker on his offer of clothes. His own is still crusted and stained with blood, ripped up, like he’s just been on more motherfucking missions from the messiahs. At least it’s not the godtier outfit. He’d abandoned that before turning against Lord English. The paint he doubts he could have fixed any better than he’s already tried.

 

“Alright, bro,” he mumbles. “What can you be all of wanting?”

 

Karkat turns at the sound of his voice, his expression looking caught out and wrong-footed despite the fact that he’d been the one to come looking for Gamzee in the first place.  His snarl drops from his face but in it’s place is a mullish, half-angry frown as his gaze slips over Gamzee, taking in the blood and grime and wear and tear on his clothes and stopping on his painted up face.  He crosses his arms in a way that’s probably meant to be both offensive and defensive, because he looks uncomfortable and anxious both but there’s stubborn grit keeping standing his ground.

 

(It’s nothing like the way Karkat used to look at him, face filled with a deep kind of hurt Gamzee only understood half the time and ignored the rest because Gamzee is the shittiest moirail there has ever been and still doesn’t have any of the traits one needs to be a good one. He wishes he had another chance. He’s almost glad he doesn’t, though. because the failure he foresees would be too much to handle.)

 

“What do I _want?_  What kind of a pan-addled, moot fucking question is _that?_  Like there’s a single goddamn troll left alive that doesn’t already know that the minute I mistakenly decide to want something, the universe rips it away by the string it’s been dangling it in front of me by and proceeds to rip me a brand spanking new waste chute.  What kind of trite, piece of shit way is that to start this inevitably shitty conversation with?”

 

Gamzee had known he’d mess this up but he hadn’t thought it would be the first motherfucking thing out of his mouth. He tries to fix it but Karkat cuts him off viciously.

 

“No, fuck you, don’t answer that. it was a rhetorical fucking question.  I know, what a surprise, Karkat once again wants someone to shut their protein spout long enough to say a few words that, ho ho, _nobody’s going to listen to anyway._  Except you.  You are going to goddamn listen to me.” He pauses there, only briefly, like he’d been on a roll but then he’d rolled abruptly off the counter with nothing there to catch him, but he’s Karkat, so he doesn’t let himself stay quiet for long.

 

“We’re going to talk, you creepy clown son of a fuck, and, if you’re lucky, I might even allow it to nominate as an actual conversation.  And you’re not gonna use your weird ass propensity to _disappear off the face of the planet_ to get out of it, and you can use as many chucklevoodoos as you goddamn want and I will still not let you get out of this.  Are you comprehending the words that I am spewing out of my mouth place, or are they just dribbling back out your ears?”

 

Gamzee blinks slowly. It takes him a little while to really get all the words Karkat’s feeding him. He kind of expected the aggressiveness because Karkat’s always been rough around the edges but his tolerance for it has lessened over their time apart. The words hit like precision strikes, like bullets, and he feels riddled after.

 

“Alright,” he says, slow like any misstep will have Karkat after him with his scythes again (and the memory of it, hazy red around the edges and confusing, just makes his insides clench up tight.) He shifts and leans against the door frame, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Alright, motherfucker, I be getting my listening on to your sermon if that’s what all you want me to be motherfucking doing. I keep nice and quiet like so you can say your motherfucking piece.”

 

And… Karkat’s gonna tell him to leave. That’s pretty motherfucking obvious, but… His insides are twisting to pieces and his bloodpusher’s pounding, but at the same time, it’s almost a relief to finally have it out in the open. He’s ready for it. He’s ready for Karkat to run him off like the menace to the rest of their friends that he has shown himself to be (because he might still be. He doesn’t know.)

 

But Karkat almost looks like he falters for a moment, as if ‘alright’ was the last thing he’d been expecting to hear, and then he promptly looks torn between being angry again or just wanting to get this over with.  His fingers curl and clench against his arms, barely light enough that his claws draw no blood, and then he bares his teeth in another snarl that also doesn’t last long, though the sneer that follows it doesn’t seem to want to go away.

 

“If I were going to give you a _sermon_ , we would be here for a fucking perigee.  If it were a meal, it’d be five nasty ass courses where each platter would be capable of feeding a third-rate planet like this one for a _sweep_ and where each word was just another steaming pile of shit.  But if you think that I’m just going to stand here and rant uselessly at you while you just wait for the moment I’m finished before you fucking abscond like a scurrybeast into the ether again, you’ve got another thing coming, fuckface.”

 

Gamzee bristles at the comparison even though it’s true.

 

“I refuse to spend another single forsaken second trying to figure you the fuck out.  If you’re going to lurk around without anyone knowing where you are even though we are all aware of the fact that you are probably present at least half the time, then you’re owning the fuck up to whatever bullshit ballet dance of thought that prances whimsically through your think-pan, because I will throw myself to the horrorterrors before I ever claim that I am capable of figuring it out for myself.  So it stops here, Makara.  You’re going to tell me what your game is.”

 

Gamzee has no idea how to respond. He’s not sure what the right answer is and somehow this is worse than just being thrown out. His claws catch in the seams of his pockets, ripping into them slow like it might help him feel more grounded, except it doesn’t. He’s. There’s no getting grounded. He’s got nothing under his feet.

 

“I can all up and stop,” he says because he’s getting lost in words again and he can’t tell what Karkat really _wants_. “I just been motherfucking watching is all. Didn’t figure I should be down in the motherfucking way is all.”

 

He shrugs a little, lets his eyes glaze and slide off to nothing because looking at Karkat straight on is just getting him more and more agitated. He’s not even sure what the actual problem is. He just wishes he had absconded to somewhere else instead of facing Karkat.

 

“I ain’t playing no games, bro. I’m all to being tired of games.”

 

“Right, just like you disappearing on the meteor was you just ‘not wanting to be in the way’,” Karkat counters with sarcasm.  It’s easy to see that he’s not quite buying the words that Gamzee’s selling, right now, but he is at least _listening_ , even if it’s with great reluctance and bias, and that’s more than Gamzee had hoped for.

 

“If I thought I had precedence to trust that kind of reasoning, do you really fucking think we’d be having this conversation to fucking begin with?  I gave you your space _once_ , and look how well _that_ turned out, and I’m sick and fucking tired of making mistakes that get other people killed, just because I thought I’d give someone the benefit of doubt.  I don’t give a solitary shit about if you’re lurking or not, I want to know _why_ , because I thought you didn’t work at angles once and I was, sur-fucking-prise, wrong about that too.”

 

Gamzee flinches and purses his lips and supposes he deserves that. Even he doesn’t really know what he was doing at the time. What he was thinking. It’s all fuzzy and strange in his head. But there is one thing he knows, one thing he’s been keeping held tight to him like nothing else.

 

“I ain’t getting my fucking killing on anymore,” he says and he means it, clear and sharp, and the way he says it is enough to make Karkat drop the sneer and just look at it him, for a long moment. Long enough that his brows start to furrow the longer Gamzee goes on, and even if there isn’t quite trust in his gaze, at least the stone blockade is gone from his face. “I’m up to filled on killing. And I ain’t seeing the miracles what need to be painted anymore. That was all to being…”

 

Gamzee swallows thickly, scratching his fingers back through his messy hair. He lets his claws dig at his scalp a little because the pain helps him keep focused and maybe he needs some punishing after all. “That was all to being something I don’t even get my motherfucking understanding on. A lot of motherfucking things are all wound up and tossed around in my pan. I ain’t even sure what was being real and what I been motherfucking making up when I was to be getting my thinking on alone.”

 

He doubts any of this is actually helping. He should have just run the moment they had Captor safe in their group. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t know why he’s trying when that never comes out doing him any good. He misses his hive and his sopor and his life.

 

“They’re gone from my motherfucking pan now, those what took care of me,” he mutters shrugging one shoulder. “And I ain’t got any motherfucking idea what I’m supposed to do now.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’d better hope you’re not planning anymore of that bullshit,” Karkat says, still faltering. He seems a little bit at a loss of what to say to the way that not even Gamzee sounds sure of what he’d been doing and thinking.  “Okay, I give, what new purée of confused blunderfuckery are you spouting this time?  What the fuck do you mean, ‘those what took care of’ you?  Do I look like I’m in any sort of position to puzzle out more terrible riddles when all I want for once is some straight goddamn answers?”

 

Gamzee shrugs again. He chews the inside of his mouth a little, tries to put his words in some kind of understandable order but the moment he does, they’re gone from his pan. He’s losing ground on what he even _wants_ to say, much less what he _should_.

 

“Bro, I think you’re all of knowing what I mean,” he says finally and he can’t quite look at him. He studies the edge of Karkat’s pants, a few worn spots from dragging along his shoes. “I think everyone’s got their motherfucking knowing on that one.”

 

“If you think I have even the tiniest fragment of an inkling as to what the everloving fuck you’re talking about, your pan is ever more dented and warped than I could have ever thought,” the easily-irritated Troll responds, though there’s less and less irritation and aggression in the way he holds himself and more reluctant curiosity and apprehension. Like he really does want to know. Like he’s trying to confirm something.

 

After a few moments, Gamzee leans more heavily against the doorway and lets his body sink down it because he’s feeling so heavy suddenly, like he’s got the weight of everything on him. He doesn’t want to think about English. He doesn’t have a choice. And Karkat deserves better (so much better.)

 

“He was all in there,” Gamzee mutters, tapping his head just under one horn as he flickers his gaze up and is caught on Karkat’s face despite his best intentions. “Wrapped up so tight I still ain’t knowing what was him and what was me. His voice was so motherfucking loud, bro. _So_ loud.”

 

Karkat’s arms fall uncrossed in surprise and a worry that he tries his damnedest to shove away. Karkat’s like that, trying not to feel all there is to feel (except rage. He’s good at that, and maybe that’s what attracted Gamzee to him in the first place.) He flounders for words for a few overlong seconds, not sure how to respond to any of that at first. Gamzee feels for him. He wishes he could _make_ the sense Karkat wants.

 

“Who...who the _fuck_ are you talking about?   _What_ the fuck are you talking about...?  Gamzee, you’re making even less sense than usual.”

 

Gamzee studies him. That sounds a lot less angry than before. Even if Karkat isn’t understanding him, maybe… maybe he’s really trying to? Gamzee doesn’t know how to fix things and doubts he deserves to, but… If there is a chance. _Any_ chance.

 

“Sometimes I was to forgetting the motherfucking sound of my own thoughts,” he admits softly, “‘cause he was so motherfucking loud, English was. The motherfucking Angel of Double Death. He was all up in my skull. Telling me where I was to be getting myself. Telling me what I was to be doing. Bringing around his miraculous loop of life full motherfucking circle. He was so full of motherfucking rage. I ain’t even knowing how to fight that.”

 

He’d been completely blown over like he wasn’t even there. He still feels it in the lingering traces of English’s orders and thoughts and feelings. Like they’re more real than he is. He shivers at the thought of it.

 

Karkat doesn’t look like he knows what to say to those kinds of revelations.  His jaw twitches like he’s grinding his teeth together and his brows are furrowed enough to make river valleys between them. His gaze keeps switching between Gamzee and a farther wall.

 

“Say that I decided to take this at face value, for the single second I decided to scoop my think pan out of my head-casing.  Let’s pretend I am actually the drooling retard my lack of decision-making skills makes me out to be, and that what you’re saying actually decided to make some sense to me despite what _should_ be my better judgement,” he starts, and then he lets his gaze drop to frown at his own crossed arms, “What does that mean?  That, what, somehow English was able to get into your head like some kind of Serket bitch?  That if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have...done all that shit?”

 

_Serket_. Gamzee stiffens and his blood pusher clenches tight for several seconds because he hates her. He hates her _so much_. He wishes she would die, that she’d been left behind, and if he ever sees her again, he doesn’t know what he might do but he’s pretty sure she’d be dead by the end of it. He’ll rip her to shreds, rip her to pieces-

 

Except his visceral reaction to Karkat’s words almost has the shorter troll startling backwards in wariness, stiffening up to defend himself-

 

Gamzee drops his head and then curls his fingers tight in his hair to focus, ground, his thumbs press hard along the skin around his horns but self-papping is pretty motherfucking useless, doesn’t get anything done… The recrimination helps though, and he draws in a ragged breath.

 

“She was all to being there,” he manages, strained. “At the end of things, she was there, too. In my pan. Spidersis never would have motherfucking managed it, but she was- Motherfucker was just…So fucking strong. Making me-”

 

He stops because he can’t get angry right now. He can’t. Not here, not with Karkat. He’s trying to make things right. Motherfuck does he wish he had pie. He presses harder to the base of his horns and it doesn’t help and he keeps trying anyway.

 

“He wasn’t like her. He was all secret like at first, sounded like motherfucking _me_ ,” he tries to explain instead even though he doubts he really can. “I ain’t knowing _when_. I ain’t knowing when it was him and when it was to being me. Maybe I would have motherfucking murdered all ya’ll on my own. It ain’t in me to know. I…”

 

He wishes he _did_ know, but he’s kind of afraid of that, too. He’s terrified that the rage, the bloodlust, all of it is really part of him after all. That all English did was wake it up.

 

Karkat starts forward but hesitates before he can actually reach out and do the papping himself.  Instead, he crouches in front of Gamzee, still separated by enough distance that he could _maybe_ touch Gamzee if he reached out, but it’d be a near thing. Gamzee wishes he would. The aggression and distrust is gone from Karkat’s body language, replaced with worry and a troubled expression.  There’s anger, too, but it’s distant in his eyes and not directed at all at Gamzee.

 

“Bro, I ain’t a good troll and I was all up in the knowledge of that before the motherfucking game, but I didn’t want to murder anyone then. I just…” Why is this so hard? Why can’t he just forget about all of it? “I just wanted to motherfucking rap with Tavbro and watch your motherfucking movies and look at the pretty things what Kansis made and…”

 

He trails off and drags his knees to his chest so he can rest his forehead against them. “I wasn’t wanting all the killing then and I ain’t really wanting it now. I don’t know what that motherfucking means.”

 

Karkat shifts a bit and then lets out a swift, noisy breath.

 

“It means that I’m a giant throbbing asshole for jumping to bullshit conclusions that I _knew_ didn’t make sense and I still jumped anyway.  I didn’t even need to strap rocket shoes on to make it all the way to the wrong fucking hemisphere of conclusion planet,” he mutters, with a sigh, and then he makes a grimace as he opens his mouth and pauses, apparently looking for more words to say.

 

Gamzee lifts his head, chancing a glance to the other troll. No. _No_ , Karkat has no reason to put himself down like this; he’s done nothing but try to protect people and lead them and do the right motherfucking thing.

 

“Well,” Karkat finally decides on, and then he pauses _again_ , before he forces himself to push forward, “That’s great and all, but you can’t exactly watch movies with me from the fucking vents, asshole.  Maybe try and show your face every now and again?  I might lose all common sense and actually start to _miss_ it, otherwise.”

 

...Is he… Is Karkat really… Gamzee swallowes the sudden lump in his throat because Karkat’s... He…

 

It’s more than he could have hoped for. Right now, Karkat’s not looking at him like he ruined everything and it… He didn’t think anything could feel so good. It fills him up from toes to the tips of his horns until he’s almost giddy with beautiful motherfucking relief. He presses his forehead hard against his knees as his lips peel back into a smile that’s so wide it hurts. He can’t help the little giggle that wells up and bubbles out of him.

 

Motherfucking best friend. “I could come out? And motherfucking sit with you? I could all up and do that? And… And you’d be wanting me to?”

 

Karkat doesn’t really seem as completely at ease as he should be, yet, but it’s definitely far better than it was when he first walked into the Crocker house, and he’s actually _looking_ at Gamzee now, which is definitely a step up from that first day back where he wouldn’t look at him at all.  He’s even kind of happy looking now,  a small grin on _his_ face.  It only fades when he glances down at the floor between them and bites his lip.

 

“That’s what I just fucking said, isn’t it? For fuck’s sake, you could clean the paint out of your ears every once in a while. But yeah. Yeah, I’d like that a lot. Maybe I’ll finally get you to understand the pure cinematic _genius_ of my collection, because the rest of the idiots we hang around with are obviously lost causes. It’s a goddamn tragedy. Or you know, whenever you feel like slinking out or whatever, it’s not like I’m busy or anything. When _don’t_ I have time for your bullshit?”

 

Gamzee lets out another relieved giggle and just. He’s so happy right now. For the first time in a long, long time, he’s all there, in a single moment, and he feels nothing but overriding mirth. He isn’t even tired or achy anymore. He’s just… It feels _so_ good.

 

“Okay. You got it, motherfucker. I’ll be getting my appearing on, sitting my motherfucking ass down with you, and we can appreciate the shit out of your miraculous collection.” He’s so giddy, it’s unreal. “Whatever you wanna motherfucking watch, man. I’m there. I’m motherfucking all to being there with you.”

 

Maybe the others will never trust him again, but here, this, this is enough for him. This is all he needs.

 

“Okay,” Karkat repeats back at him, hesitant, before he offers another small grin to the giddy clown. “Good.  If you don’t show up now, you’d better understand that I will find a way to drag you out of those vents to watch movies with me.  Besides, it’ll be nice to have company that’s not as completely pan-numbingly tiresome to put up with as humans and the other trolls we get to put up with here.”

 

He hesitates, there, watching Gamzee grin, and finally he just shakes his head and repeats, “Good.  Do you wanna come back with me?  I can make the other fools give up the television and they’ll have finished making their next food offering soon.  Or  I could just.  Bring movies over here?”

 

“...I motherfucking like it here. Crocker, he gave me a spot,” Gamzee says and then he perks right up in remembrance and twists in the doorway, pointing up to the thermal hull. Karkat snorts but doesn’t roll his eyes like he might have probably done for anyone else who’d said something so weird to him.  He doesn’t say anything about it, though. “See? Motherfucking mine, right there. And. And Egbert’s all to being nice but… I like it here.”

 

This hive is quieter and Jane has the same kind of baggage he did and Crocker seems to like him and… In the last days, this hive has become his, a little, and he’s wary about venturing further. But maybe, if things go okay, maybe then he could go back over there openly? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to rush. (Besides, even after everything, Vriska is still pretty terrifying.)

 

“Can we be motherfucking watching here first?”

 

And Karkat just shrugs and pushes himself up until he’s standing, glancing at the front door and then Gamzee.

 

“Why the fuck not.  Like I would complain about getting away from John fucking Egbert’s inanity for even a minute.  Just let me go get my movie stuff.  I refuse to watch anything without being completely prepared.”

 

Gamzee is sure he’d feel a petty sense of triumph if he’d heard Karkat describe John that way at any time other than right now, but it is right now and he’s too happy to care. He gets himself up and can’t stop grinning.

 

“You do that. I’ll be motherfucking waiting, bro. Ain’t moving a motherfucking inch, I all up and swear to you.”

 

He’d swear just about anything right now and actually mean it, too. Whatever Karkat wants. And then he thinks of the leftover pie in the thermal hull. Maybe just move enough to get a few slices. It’s not grubcorn but he thinks maybe Karkat might like something motherfucking delicious to nom on while they enjoy his romances.

 

Karkat snorts at him, and finally does roll his eyes.

 

“Don’t be a moron, you malnourished juggalo headcase,” he mutters, even as he turns towards the door, “You’re now officially fucking obligated to go and make sure the TV block is prepared for the magnificence of my movie collection, because I am not about to fucking watch it in the middle of a fucking doorway.”

 

He jerks the front door open, lingering long enough to cast Gamzee a last glance before he leaves.  His parting words are, “I’m fucking serious, I’ll be right back so don’t you _dare_ crawl back into those vents or I will throw approximately 3.14 bitchfits right into your face.”

 

Gamzee pities that bitchy little bastard so motherfucking much.

 

The moment Karkat’s out the door, Gamzee scrambles to check the TV block and busies himself switching around the couch cushions to his liking. Then he fetches the pie and spends a good while standing in the middle of the block and wondering if it’s all right. He doubts much will send Karkat storming away but…

 

Well. He doesn’t want to lose this.

 

Karkat calls him an idiot for worrying over a pillow when Gamzee tells him. And then they have a wonderful day with Karkat’s movies and Gamzee just can’t get enough watching the way Karkat gets so invested in the stories. It’s a miracle he gets to see this again.

 

(He’s not going to lose this. _Ever_.)

 

And when it’s late and both Crockers have come back, Karkat heads back over to the Egberts’. At the door he pauses and Gamzee watches him, trying to read what’s going on in his head. Karkat takes a breath like he’s getting ready to make a speech, but all he says is, “I’m glad you’re around, assbutt.”

 

And then he flushes red and ducks out. Gamzee stares at the closed door. Warmth blooms in his chest as it tightens up for a few moments and then releases with a gush of relief and absolute purest white pity and Gamzee cannot _ever_ mess this up again. Whether or not Karkat ever wants him as more than just a friend again doesn’t even matter. He’s…

 

“All right there, son?” Crocker calls from somewhere behind him. Gamzee can only grin.

 

“Yeah. I think I motherfucking am.”

 

It feels like things are going to be okay and Gamzee likes the sensation of hope in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. Everything is not totally perfect, but much better than it had been :) This is a conversation that needed to happen.


End file.
